


Table for Two

by Escopeta



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friendship, M/M, One Shot, Pidge and Hunk are good friends though, Romance, Speed Dating, [Man] is nameless and in the background where he belongs, lance is a terrible wingman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 18:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17792204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Escopeta/pseuds/Escopeta
Summary: Valentine's Day is just a cash cow for corporations. But if Keith has to be herded, then he'd rather do it alongside someone whose hair reminds him of the moon, and a smile that holds the sun.{ A gift fic for our Valentine's Exchange in the Discord server, Sheith Happens.}





	Table for Two

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Oxto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oxto/gifts).



_I’m going to kill Lance._

That’s the mantra scrolling through Keith’s mind as he sits in this posh chair in this posh restaurant. A restaurant he was told he’d be meeting Lance and Allura at because they didn’t want him to be alone on Valentine’s Day. They’re a sickeningly sweet couple who like to do all sorts of agonizing and stereotypical hetero couple things together, but last week they had told Keith they wanted to invite him to their Valentines dinner instead. That they promised they wouldn’t be ‘gross’ in front of him with their pet names for each other or the little compliments they like to hand out like candy.

He had agreed only to get them off his back.

Except, they never showed up.

 _Normally_ , Keith wouldn’t really mind. _N_ _ormally_ in a scenario like this, he’d order an appetizer and just take it to go. And then he’d _normally_ just lounge on the couch at home and binge-watch something on Netflix or flip through the channels for some kind of documentary.

But today isn’t a normal kind of evening.

Keith now finds himself stuck in a stupid all gender speed dating thing. Number 19 is his name for the night.

He had told Lance over and over he didn’t like to be pestered about his love life. Or lack thereof. He’s only been in a relationship once a few years ago. But he and James got into it for the wrong reasons. What was supposed to be a one-night stand turned into fuck buddies until James got emotionally attached and wanted more.

Since he was a child, Keith’s never been good at social interaction. But he wanted to try. He wanted to know what it felt like to have a partner, and so he gave it a shot.

Like he had suspected, it didn’t last for more than a year. Maybe it was because he and James were too passionate about the same things. Maybe their competitive side with each other won out over common sense about their relationship. Or maybe it’s just that Keith didn’t want to deal with a long-distance relationship when James found an internship in another state, and so had to move and enroll in a university there to finish his schooling.

It was good while it lasted. Maybe not the best (he doesn’t exactly have a frame of reference), but good enough to satiate his human ‘need’ for a partner for at least a decade. It’s a load of bullshit media tries to sell anyway. People don’t ‘need’ other people to love them romantically. That’s not the key to happiness.

But being here among lonely singles tells him not everyone agrees.

When the host announces that there are 8 minutes for each rotation in a room full of ‘n’ number of people, Keith muses he should’ve just let the host know there’s been a mistake. But then that’d mean an odd amount of participants, and somebody would be left without anyone to talk to for a decent amount of time. Multiple people, come to think of it.

Just doesn’t seem like a great way to spend Valentine’s Day for those saps.

Keith tries his best to remain interested in his table mate’s smalltalk. He himself has never been great at smalltalk, and he’s not even someone who likes to open up to others. (Pidge and Hunk are the exceptions. Even then, it’s only sometimes.)

But he doesn’t really have to do much of anything. When he gets a woman at a table, he tells her right off the bat he’s only interested in men. She always look dejected, but still tries to chat him up just to pass the time. (They compliment how soft and silky his long hair looks. He doesn’t even do anything to it; just puts it in a ponytail.) And when he gets a man, they have vastly different interests than him, but he doesn’t miss their compliments about how handsome he is (some even call him beautiful) to try and get him to open up or even smile.

He doesn’t.

The host rings the mini handbell and announces the end of the current 8 minutes. Keith moves on to the next table and his interest is piqued just a little at the person sitting across from him.

“Hello,” the man greets with a genuine smile.

Keith takes a moment to, just, _absorb_ , what he’s seeing right now. The dude is tall. Maybe at least a head taller than him. He’s also ripped, judging by how tight that wool sweater is over his biceps and how it stretches across his chest. The dress shirt underneath is probably missing a few buttons. There’s a scar across the bridge of his nose, and his right hand is a prosthetic. White glossy plastic. Most likely expensive judging by the design detail of the joints in the fingers, palm, and wrist.

But what really catches his eye is the silver—almost white—hair. It’s cut short and neat, although there’s a tuft of forelock (crooked bangs maybe?) at the front. Yet he doesn’t look any older than his mid-twenties. That’s the odd thing.

With his strong chiseled jaw and kind, brown eyes, he could be a men’s magazine model. Hell, maybe he is for all Keith knows.

“These things are always kind of awkward, aren’t they?” the man, Number 20, says.

Keith realizes he wasted a minute just staring like slack-jawed idiot. “Uh, yeah,” he replies lamely. Clearing his throat, he continues, “I was tricked into coming here. My friend—also known as the soon-to-be unidentifiable corpse on the side of the road—actually signed me up without me knowing. Pretended like I was gonna meet him and his girlfriend here for dinner.”

“I’m sure he had good intentions.”

Oh, _and_ he’s nice too? This man can’t be a real person.

When Keith doesn’t reply, his table mate says, “Sorry, I… don’t actually know what to talk about. I’m not all that great at it. Nothing really interesting to share.”

“No, don’t apologize. I’m the one who’s sorry—don’t have anything interesting to share either. I just… didn’t want to be here. Was gonna leave when I realized what was actually going on, but then I just stayed. Not like I was doing anything today anyway.” Keith shrugs.

“Really? No plans at all?” The man smiles and rests his forearms on the table. God they’re thick. “You look like the kinda guy who’d ride a motorcycle cross-country, leather jacket and everything. I’m sure you’ve had your fair share of admirers. The ‘bad boy’ archetype is quite popular.”

He actually laughs. Him, Keith. Laughing. “Is _that_ how I look to you?”

“Am I wrong? You’re even rocking the ponytail.”

Keith crosses his arms and just stares at him. The man only continues to smile, holding his gaze. Keith can’t help but smirk, letting out a small huff on the edge of another laugh. “Alright, you got me. I do have a motorcycle, but honestly I hardly get to use it. An impulse buy, really. Not my brightest moment.”

“You should use it more. The coast is nice during the clear summer skies. Might not be a bad idea to dust it off once in a while.”

“I’ll think about it. So,” he nods his head toward him, “what about you? Hard to believe you’re not on some hot date.”

“Ah, yeah.” He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand. “I’ve been out of the dating scene for a while. Broke up with my long-time boyfriend-almost-fiancé early last year, and then other things happened,” which Keith assumes has to do with his arm and the scar across his face, “so dating just wasn’t a thing I really cared about all that much. But like you, I was convinced to try one of these by a friend, so, here I am.”

He’s not really sure what to say. Keith and James didn’t last all that long. He is curious though exactly how many years this man was together with his previous partner. But that’s private information, and if he doesn’t share it right off the bat, then Keith isn’t going to be intrusive about it.

“Sorry it didn’t work out,” he says, because it’s all he can say. Breakups aren’t fun, and this guy must’ve had a good relationship with his boyfriend to stay so long with him, at least. To consider marriage, even.

“These things happen. But you learn to live with it. No use mulling over the past if it won’t help you move forward to the future.”

“You could sell motivational desk calendars.”

This time, the man laughs. It’s a nice, hearty laugh on the side of gentle. Just like his voice. “Might not be a bad idea. I’m good at Excel.”

“Wow, that’s a phenomenal pick-up line. You good at Word and PowerPoint too? I’m starting to feel a little frisky.”

He laughs again, and Keith can’t fight the grin off his face even if he had a knife to his throat.

“A funny guy too,” the man says. “You’re really full of surprises, Number 19.”

“Most jokes go over my head, or so my friends say. But thanks; I appreciate the compliment.”

“You’re worth complimenting, no matter how small.”

The slightest heat rises to his cheeks, and Keith has to break eye contact for his own sanity. Other people for the past however minutes have all given compliments, so it shouldn’t bother him. But it does, because none ever felt as genuine as this. They made it a point to flatter him from the get-go. This guy, Number 20, could probably talk him into robbing a bank, and Keith would ask him with what gun.

He wants to ask about his hobbies, what his favorite kind of pet is, and does he prefer coffee or tea, but the host rings the bell just as Keith opens his mouth.

“Eight minutes are up! Move along to the next table!”

“Time really does fly,” the man says. He gives Keith another gentle smile, and holds out his flesh hand, “It was very nice to meet you. I had a nice chat.”

“M-Me too. I, um,” he takes his hand, warm and soft with a strong grip, “liked our chat a lot too.”

His only response back is a nod, smile still on the man’s lips. Keith moves to the next table, and the 8 minutes start up again. He can’t focus on the new guy in front of him. Instead Keith keeps stealing glances at Number 20 talking with some dark-haired, dark-skinned guy. Said guy gives a timid smile back and blushes at something 20 says. He apparently stutters over his words a lot and apologizes, to which 20 tells him not to worry about it, that it’s normal to be nervous when meeting new people.

That other man is an adult, and he shouldn’t be acting like a little school kid trying to hand their crush a Valentine’s card.

Apparently, Keith’s table mate notices he’s not paying attention, and so snaps his fingers in front of his face. The action doesn’t go over well with Keith, and he lets him know loud and clear he’s not a damn animal who needs to be snapped at.

It sours his mood for the rest of the event. That snapping thing. Not the other, nonsensical thing. Definitely.

Soon enough, the whole shindig is over. The host thanks everyone for coming and reminds them to fill out their forms about who they liked the best. It’s the only way to get their contact information. Some people stay behind to eat at the restaurant, and others loiter in the lobby or outside the entrance.

Keith spots Number 20 from behind. God, the guy’s got such a wide back. And he’s so much taller standing up. Exactly what does he eat that makes him that big? An entire bison stuffed with a bear?

He decides to at least say his good byes. That wouldn’t be awkward, right? It’s not like he’s going to ask for this guy’s number or anything—that’s against the rules while they’re in here.

But then that other guy, the blushing schoolchild, comes up to him with an awkward smile. Seemingly apologizing for something. Number 20 laughs and smiles back, big and bright, and the other guy looks at him like a puppy excited to see its master.

No, there’s no need to say his good byes. This is a stranger after all. Keith didn’t even want to be here in the first place.

And so he leaves without looking back.

  
✦   ✦   ✦   ✦   ✦  


He’s halfway through his Thai takeout when Pidge walks into the door of their shared apartment. She’s got her bright green rain boots on and an oversized waterproof jacket of the same color. Keith only acknowledges her presence with a glance and a hand held up in greeting.

“Man it’s pouring out there,” she says, hanging up her jacket on the wall peg. Kicking off her boots, she flops down on the couch next to Keith and nabs some of his pad Thai noodles with the extra plastic fork. Some raindrops are dotted on the lenses of her round, oversized glasses. “What’re you watching?”

“I actually don’t know. Just turned on the TV to whatever channel.”

Pidge is silent as she mooches off the styrofoam box on his lap. Evidently the program is a documentary about carnivorous plants. Makes a lot more sense now why they showed so many flies and bugs dying to dramatic music in those weird green maws.

“We should get one of those,” Pidge says before snagging a shrimp.

“For what?”

“Keeps the flies out. Maybe put it near the window or the front door. I kinda like the pitcher one.”

“Venus flytrap would be better.”

She smiles. “You _would_ pick the one that looks more like a knife.” After she scoops some more noodles into her mouth, she continues, “Lance told me about your torture. When’s his funeral?”

“I haven’t decided when I’m gonna kill him yet. But I’m thinking springtime would be ideal.”

Giving a laugh, she asks, “So how bad was it?”

“Well, I kinda wanted to maim myself,” he admits, “and I would’ve left immediately, but it was whatever and it was raining outside anyway. So I just stayed.”

From the corner of his eye, he can tell Pidge is studying his face. Keith has never been a good liar, and she’s the sharpest person he knows. But it _is_ half the truth, so, that doesn’t really count as him lying. Right?

His stomach sinks when her lips curl into a devious smile. And he knows what she’s going to say. Though Pidge is more mature than Lance, despite being two years younger (she actually knows you don’t put metal in the microwave and that you don’t pour bleach in when you’re washing non-white clothes), he hasn’t forgotten that she can be just as much of a little shit. Those two with Hunk make quite the trio. God, Keith wishes Hunk was here right now. He’d be the only non-intrusive person about the whole incident.

“You met someone,” she finally says, voice teetering on sing-song. “And you’re not saying anything, so that means I’m right.”

Keith shrugs. “Are you?”

“What’s his name?”

“Dunno.” He chomps on a piece of broccoli.

“Oh right. You’ll find out in the email from the host. Well isn’t this something? Gonna get your feet wet again in the dating scene.”

“No, they’re gonna be pretty dry.” Before she can pry further, he says, “I left without giving the host my form. Nobody can contact me now.”

Pidge makes a strangled sound from low in her throat. “Keith.”

“Pidge.”

Huffing through her nostrils, she says, “Did you forget, or…?”

“Doesn’t matter, and isn’t important. I didn’t sign up for that myself, and I didn’t want to be there in the first place.”

“But you missed out on getting to know someone new.”

“I met plenty of new people. That’s enough for a while.”

The thing about him and Pidge is that, while she probably understands him the most, they’re both stubborn. And two mountain goats headbutting each other means one is going to fall off the cliffside, so they come to a stalemate. Sometimes one caves and lets the other ‘win’. But for more serious things like this, they just let the topic drop altogether unless it really needs to be talked about. That doesn’t happen until a cooling off period of however long though.

“Alright,” she says, “you do you, I guess.”

She doesn’t bring it up again the next day, or even for the remainder of the week. Keith goes about his usual business. Mind-numbing college classes during the day, and then his work shift during the evenings. His job is bearable, at least. When he started college, he had met Pidge, who had then introduced him to her friends, Hunk and Lance. By association, they became his friends too.

Hunk he actually gets along with. The guy’s empathetic and thoughtful, but he’ll call you out when you’re being a headass. Keith likes that about him. He also likes that Hunk helped him get a job at a restaurant the guy co-owns with his girlfriend Shay and their friend Romelle. Early 20s is pretty young to own a restaurant, but Hunk’s more capable than other people give him credit for.

It’s a quaint little place called Crunch n’ Munch Café. Half-restaurant, half-café. People can order a coffee and breakfast muffin before dashing away to rush-hour traffic on weekday mornings, or they can sit back and relax with a warm meal and delicious dessert any other time, any day of the week. The interior walls are a soft yellow accented by earthen tones of the rest of the furnishings. All the tables are some kind of white wood, and the chairs themselves are cushioned so everyone feels comfortable taking their time to dine. Hunk himself is the main chef, and Shay and Romelle alternate from the register to the kitchen. Aside from Keith, there’s only one other person on the waitstaff, and that happens to be Lance.

Unfortunately, Lance is on shift with him this evening. Keith hasn’t said a word to him since he donned the apron and picked up his notepad. (Lance has apparently been avoiding him like the plague, darting away whenever Keith got too close. He must’ve foreseen his own death.) But it could also be that they’re busy. Saturday evenings are always packed. Good for business, but at the cost of dealing with an influx of customers for several hours until closing.

When Keith goes to the new table, he’s surprised to find Matt and his girlfriend Nancy sitting there.

“Oh, hey Keith!” Matt is Pidge’s older brother. While Keith doesn’t know him all that well, he’s decent enough. Similar to Pidge, except more of a dork (or so she says).

“Hey, Matt, Nancy.” She only gives him a brief wave and then looks back down at the menu. Nancy was never much of a talker anyhow. “What can I get you two?”

“We’re actually waiting for other people,” Matt replies. “It’s a double-date with a co-worker of mine. They should be here soon though.”

“Fun. Can I get you guys some drinks meanwhile?”

“Just water for me.”

Nancy hums, not taking her eyes off the menu. “Pomegranate tea for me, please.”

“Alright. I’ll be right back.”

Keith goes behind the counter to fill their drink orders in. That’s when Lance slides up to him with his own tray of beverages. He ignores him, and Lance makes a garbled sound beneath his breath.

“C’mon, Mullet. You seriously gonna ignore me the whole night?”

“I’m concentrating on coming up with a plan on how to kill you and make it look like an accident. What kind of flowers do you want for your wake?”

Growling, Lance replies, “Man I’m sorry, okay? I just wanted to do something _thoughtful_. You haven’t had any action since that James dude. But then Pidge told me you just left without filling out that form.”

“Nice that Allura makes you happy, really, but not everyone wants what you have.” Keith gives him a side-ways glance. “I’m fine on my own.”

“You know, that ice king routine isn’t doing you any favors.”

“Talk to me again when I give a shit.”

With a huff, Lance fills in his beverage orders and walks away without another sound. A first for him, since he needs to have the last word on everything. Keith picks up his own tray and goes back to Matt’s table to find that the other pair for their double-date has arrived.

And the recognizable head of silver, almost white hair, has Keith’s lungs shrivel to raisins.

“Oh, Keith!” Matt waves him down and he approaches reluctantly. “I want you to meet my co-worker! This is—”

The man, Number 20, looks at him in surprise until it’s replaced with a beaming smile. “Hey, you’re that guy from the other day.”

“Yeah, that’s me,” he replies quietly.

Matt looks between them. “You two already know each other?”

“Not all that well,” 20 says. “But I remember him from the speed dating thing you convinced me to try.”

Shaking his head, Matt looks to Keith. “Lance’s idea, I’ll bet.”

“I’m sure Pidge mentioned it.”

“Just briefly.”

Keith sets down the drinks and tucks the tray underneath his arm. He flips open his notepad, pen poised above the next ruled line. He barely notices 20’s date. That same bashful guy from the speed dating thing. He whispers something to 20, who smiles, and it causes the other guy to beam. It twists knots in Keith’s stomach, but he passes it off as indigestion.

“So, are you all ready to order?” because he has a job to do here, and it doesn’t involve staring at this still-stranger.

They give him their orders and Keith writes it down in his chicken scratch. Matt orders more than one appetizer, and Nancy only wants a salad. Number 20 orders a dish of pasta and the other guy orders the exact same thing.

“Oh, but I thought you didn’t like mushrooms?” 20 says to him.

“Ah, well it’s never too late to try something new! Maybe they won’t taste slimy to me this time.”

Keith ignores the thread of conversations as he mentions he’ll be back with their drinks and appetizers. Lance eyes him from the other side of the room. He’s probably analyzing every little twitch and tick of the way Keith moves around this particular table. That guy will take any opportunity to tease him about everything under the sun. Keith’s never had any siblings, but he sure as hell doesn’t want any now. Lance is enough of an annoying little brother for 10 lifetimes.

He doesn’t go back to Matt’s table for a while. Keith busies himself with the other customers, and it’s only when Romelle calls the order does he slip the appetizers and dinner plates onto his tray. As he approaches, Matt and his friends laugh at something, and the other guy places a hand on Number 20’s arm lovingly.

Maybe he stares too hard because the other guy catches his line of sight. Keith stands up straighter as he approaches. “Lots of food today, Matt,” he says, setting down the plates. “Careful. Everything’s hot except for the salad.”

Rubbing his hands together, Matt’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates as he ogles the display. “Oh wow, Hunk’s the chef tonight, right?” He takes a deep whiff and Keith swears he can see the steam funnel into his nostrils. “Yup, sure smells like it!”

“Let me know if you guys need anything else. Just flag me down or something,” is all Keith says before he leaves.

Usually, he comes back to his assigned tables on his own volition at least twice in an evening. But he figures he can let that slide for tonight. Matt will call for him when he’s needed anyway.

Keith is occupied for the rest of the shift. He bounces from one end of the restaurant to the next, giving people napkins or replacing their dropped fork, and refilling their beverages. Being a waiter isn’t something he’s ever wanted to do—told Hunk he wouldn’t be a good fit the first time he had offered the job. But Hunk had confidence in him that it’d help him deal with people and maybe get more used to speaking with others.

It’s certainly built up his tolerance of stupid people, at least. He can’t count how many times he’s had to tell customers to be careful of hot dishes or that any substitutes on a menu item cost extra. One man even tried to bribe him out of paying for those substitutes. The bribe was more than what the substitutes would’ve cost. What kind of shit logic was that?

After about an hour, things start to settle now that most tables have their meals. That’s when Matt calls him down with a wave of the hand. Keith fully expects to pick up their plates, but he finds that they’re all gone.

“No dirty dishes?” he asks.

“Lance came by to pick them up,” Matt says. “He’s been coming by a lot today. Dunno why.”

Oh, Keith has a few ideas. None bode well for him.

“Well, can I get you refills on anything? Or would you like dessert or something?”

“Dessert sounds good. I’ll have one of those brownies topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.” He looks to his friend. “You have to try them. It melts in your mouth!”

“I’m actually sort of full,” he replies with an apologetic smile. “Katie’s friend sure knows how to stuff a stomach.” Number 20 looks to his date. “Did you want to have a dessert?”

“No, I think I’m good. I’m full too.”

“Just bring us four forks,” Matt says to Keith. “I’m sure if they take a bite, they’ll suddenly have more room for sweets.”

Keith only gives a nod and sends in the order. It’s baked in a flash and when Keith delivers it to the table, Matt shouts in excitement. Nancy gives a good-natured eye roll, and Number 20 only chuckles. Keith leaves them alone to finish their meal and only goes back to hand them the bill. Complimentary chocolate mints and tiny fruit candies act as a paperweight. “Just take it up to the counter when you’re done. Have a nice night.”

He thinks Number 20 is going to say something to him, but then it’s cut off with his date jokingly telling Matt thanks for paying. It stirs up friendly banter, one Keith doesn’t care to listen in on.

Instead he takes a rag and cleans the vacant tables of crumbs and spills. From the background he hears Matt chatting up Shay at the counter. Then the gentle chime of the bell above the door rings and the voices are drowned out. Keith sneaks a peek over his shoulder. From the glass windows, he sees Number 20 adjusting his coat and scarf. His cheeks are pink from the cold and thin clouds of warmth puff out of his lips whenever he speaks.

The man stops only for a second and catches his eyes, looking curious. Keith quickly goes back to cleaning the table before hurrying to the back.

Lance takes care of the remaining customers while Keith helps Hunk wash everything. The more helping hands, the faster they can close. He doesn’t say much; Hunk does the talking for them both, and it’s just the way Keith likes it.

“Alright, that’s everything! Another good job today guys.” Hunk turns off the kitchen lights and the five of them stand in the empty and quiet dining room.

“It was definitely _interesting_ ,” Lance starts, glancing to Keith. “Wasn’t it, Ice King?”

Keith ignores him as he sets his jacket on and zips it up. “Hunk, I’ll need tomorrow off so I can get my homework done. But I’ll be able to come in on Monday morning for the coffee runs.”

“Sure thing. You should ask for more days off, Keith. I feel like you’re scheduled every day.”

“He is.” Shay makes the changes on their schedule log, adding in Keith’s name on the Monday square in red pen ink. “Keith, you’ve worked nearly every day for the past two months.”

“I don’t know what I’d do with all that free time,” he replies with a shrug. “Besides, half of those were me taking Lance’s shifts since he wanted more time to spend in his love nest with Allura.”

Lance scoffs. “I pull my weight around here! And at least I _have_ a love nest.”

“Again: talk to me when I give a shit.”

“Oh I was, but you were too busy avoiding Matt’s table. I wonder why?”

His lips curling into a grin has Keith giving his good byes and pulling out his phone. “Gonna text Pidge to tell her I’m coming home. See you all later.”

The last thing he hears before the door’s bell chime is Lance’s (evil) laughter.

  
✦   ✦   ✦   ✦   ✦  


For obvious reasons, he doesn’t tell Pidge he saw Number 20 during his Saturday shift. But Keith has a feeling Lance somehow told her anyway. Or maybe Matt. Whether either of them did or not, she still doesn’t mention anything about his speed date, and Keith isn’t going to remind her.

His days off are just as uneventful as his days working and going to class. But they’re also the days he gets to spend time with his dog, Kosmo. Their apartment doesn’t allow pets, unfortunately. Or at least not of that size. To this day, Keith still doesn’t know what breed Kosmo is, but he guesses he’s a mix of the biggest, fluffiest dogs on the planet. His coat is a deep, dark grey—almost black, and he has an odd silver line pattern all along his face and body too.

Maybe he’s special, like those dogs who have spots shaped like a heart or star.

Kosmo stays at his mom’s house. He appeared to them a couple of months after his dad died in a fire many years ago. Though against it at first, his mom, Krolia, decided to keep him. But whether it was for Keith’s sake or her own, he’ll never really know. Kosmo keeps her occupied when she isn’t working, at least. Being the size that he is, he requires a lot of exercise.

It’s why Keith likes to take him to the park during his morning runs. With Kosmo being fully trained, he doesn’t have to worry about his buddy running off somewhere.

His dog keeps at Keith’s pace to his right, tongue lolling as he runs alongside his human friend. Kosmo will even help Keith beat his personal records sometimes if he’s feeling particularly playful.

Today it’s crisp and cold. The kind that causes his skin to itch underneath the constricting tights and form-fitting sleeveless top. Once Lance made fun of his ass, calling him flat (he’s one to talk), so some shorts were added to the ensemble. Krolia not-too-subtly suggested he wear a sweater. “You’ll catch a cold,” she had said.

Not being one to give much of a damn about fashion, Keith threw on whatever hooded sweater he could find. (He really only has two: one with a zipper, and one without. Only the zipper one was clean.) The drawstrings bounce as he runs, timing their leaps with his earbud cords, his phone safely tucked in the band around his hip. He started listening to music shortly after he made running a habit.

People don’t talk to you if you’ve got music on. Or at least, most of the time. Some days he doesn’t even play anything; it’s the illusion that counts. (He’ll stop though if kids want to pet Kosmo.)

Across the bridge above the creek, Keith would’ve missed the guy running in the opposite direction, had said guy not stopped abruptly and jolted to tap him on the shoulder.

_God, what the hell does this—oh. Oh shit._

Number 20 smiles at him as he catches his breath. Keith stops then, plucking out his earbuds and slipping them through the neck of his top. Even while sweaty and flushed, it does nothing to detract from 20’s sculpted form. That’s what Keith assumes, anyway. The guy has sweats on that aren’t as tight as that dress shirt from the first time they met. A shame to all of humankind.

“Hey,” the man starts, “morning. I didn’t know you run here.”

“Yeah, kind of a new routine I’ve had since last year. I don’t like just sitting at home or even sleeping in.”

“You didn’t seem like a couch potato anyhow.”

“Not my style. Besides, I need to give my dog exercise. He doesn’t like staying cooped up for too long either. And my mom’s into the whole athletic thing, so,” Keith shrugs a shoulder, “it runs in the family.”

The other man only smiles at him. He kneels down on his heels next to Kosmo. “Can I pet him? Or does he not like people?”

“No, Kosmo loves being petted.”

Twenty runs his hand along Kosmo’s head. His tail wags and he inches closer, prompting 20 to scratch at his fluffy chest. “What breed is he?”

“Honestly, I dunno. We just kinda found him as a puppy one day. Put up ‘found dog’ posters but nobody claimed him, so we decided to keep him. My mom sorta got attached to him, and I liked having a pet I could actually play with. Goldfish aren’t as versatile.”

The man gives a soft laugh and looks up at him. “He’s beautiful.”

Keith knows he’s talking about Kosmo, but his cheeks apparently decide for themselves he doesn’t look red enough from his run, and they heat up even more.

“Uh, thanks,” is all he can manage to say. Twenty keeps eye contact and Keith adjusts his ponytail, setting it higher at the back of his head. He needs to do _something_ with his hands.

“Hey so,” 20 starts, standing back upright, “Matt told me you’re his sister Katie’s friend and roommate. Keith, right?”

“That’s me. Didn’t know you worked with him.”

“I don’t get out much, but I’m trying to change that. Or at least, Matt’s trying to drag me out to wherever he can. But what a funny coincidence I’d see you again. And in the same circle of people too.”

Keith gives gentle scratches between Kosmo’s ears. “I don’t get out much either. Although my friends like to drag me places too.” He pauses, and then says, “Since you work with Matt, that means you’re into space stuff, right?”

‘Space stuff.’ He couldn’t sound more like a 10-year-old if he tried.

“Oh, yeah I’ve always wanted to be an astronaut,” 20 says. “But well, things didn’t go as planned. Didn’t let that stop me though. I figured if I couldn’t go to space, then I could at least help out in that field somehow. Astrophysics and technology called to me despite all odds. Matt told me you’re interested in the field.”

“Ah,” Keith rolls the drawstring of his hoodie in between his index finger and thumb, “yeah. I just thought it was cool and stuff. I don’t know if I’d want to go to the final frontier, but I like learning about the celestial bodies and the more technical aspects of space. When I was a kid, I pretty much memorized where all the constellations are.”

“Me too!” The man smiles, and then his watch beeps. “Oh, I have to head back,” he says, looking at the dark face of the glossy plastic. It’s one of those fancy and streamlined digital health watches. “Got some errands to run today. But hey, it was nice seeing you again, Keith.”

He holds out his hand. “I’m Takashi, but everyone calls me Shiro.”

Keith refrains from making a lighthearted joke about his silver hair. “Nice to meet you, Shiro,” he says, shaking his hand.

“Firm grip you have there. Though I guess you’d need it working on your motorcycle, huh?”

“Oh, you remember that?”

“But of course. You were about the most interesting person I met at the speed date.”

Now more than ever, Keith regrets not submitting his form to the host. He wonders, had he done so, would Shiro have asked him out? Or would he still pick that other guy?

“Thanks. You too. Uh,” Keith puts one earbud in, “so I guess I’ll see you around?”

Shiro nods, and smiles at him. “Guess so.” He looks at no particular spot on the ground, clearing his throat. “Um, actually, I was wondering—well you didn’t fill out the form after the speed date, so I was just curious if—,” he huffs to himself, “I mean, the weather’s sort of cold and maybe… you’d like to get a coffee with me, sometime?”

Keith stares, bug-eyed. “Uh, but don’t you… have a boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?” he asks, looking up from the ground.

“Yeah, that guy I saw you with at Matt’s table. He was there at the speed dating thing too. Aren’t you seeing him?”

His face flushes for a moment, and his eyes don’t meet Keith’s. Then Shiro gives him a sheepish smile. “Okay, so, this is going to sound bad, but uh… yeah, when I got home last night, I kind of… let him go.”

“So you gave him a pink slip and everything?”

Shiro doesn’t laugh, but his smile is more genuine this time. “I let him down gently. We only dated for a short while. Even before I saw you again, I was already not as into it as he was. Didn’t want to keep wasting his time.” He pauses, and then asks, “Would I be wasting your time? I-It’s fine if you’re not interested.”

“No, no no! Um,” he can’t help but be the one to blush this time, “it just… uh, did he ask why you were dumping him?”

He makes a face. “Er, well he asked right off the bat if it was because I saw, ‘that long-haired guy that looks like he can turn anything into a shiv’ again.”

“Wow, I’m flattered. But for the record, I can.”

Shiro laughs, and it causes Keith’s heart to flutter. He feels like he should be in kindergarten handing out a perforated cartoon Valentine’s card to his crush on the playground. Chocolate candy and sticker taped to it and everything.

“Is… that a yes for coffee then?” Shiro asks gently.

“Oh, uh,” Keith whips out his phone and hands it to him, “yes. Number. A phone. I mean—” he growls to himself, “just put a little planet or alien emoji next to your name or something so I know it’s you.”

“Why, do you know a lot of Shiro’s?”

“I might.”

He gives a chuckle, and quickly types in the number. Handing it back to Keith, he says, “You text me later then about when is a good time to have coffee.”

“Before the end of today, I’ll let you know.”

“Then I’ll be waiting. Have a good rest of your day, Keith. And you too, Kosmo.” Kosmo gives a bark and tail wag. Shiro gives them both a wave, “I’ll see you soon,” and then goes back on his jog in the opposite direction.

Keith stares at the new number on his contact list. Shiro added an alien, planet, and star emoji next to his name. Kind of excessive, which means he must be a bit of a dork. _Cute._

As he continues on his own run with Kosmo along the familiar park trail, he wonders if Shiro isn’t all that great with romance himself. From what he just heard, it doesn’t seem like a graceful stride to just dump somebody after a date that went well. Especially if that somebody thinks it’s because of another somebody. Hopes that doesn’t come back to bite him in the ass later.

He’s one to talk; a stumbler himself when it comes to love. Maybe that negative will cancel out Shiro’s own. Maybe this time, things will be different.

Keith’s a realist, but Shiro’s smile engraved in his mind makes him understand why the glass is half-full.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So this is a one-shot I wrote for the Valentines exchange in the little Discord server I run called "Sheith Happens". I got **just_a_nerd** as my giftee. I would've made this much longer, but school kept me busy. Originally it was going to be open ended, but then I changed my mind. After the clusterfuck that was S8, I decided only good vibes for Sheith was acceptable from me moving forward.
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> Anyway, come talk to me on my Sheith-centric Twitter [@bonappekeith](https://twitter.com/bonappekeith) if y'all wanna chat about Sheith, or Keith and Shiro in general. I mostly just RT there ~~and salt occasionally~~ but I'd love to be active beyond that.
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> Thanks for reading! ❤


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